Encased in Steel
by NCR Ranger
Summary: Wether to glory or disaster, all UNSC ship captains will lead their crews forward.


Captain's quarters of the Pillar of Autumn-class heavy cruiser '_ Gaugamela_ '

Shipboard clock: 0845 hours.

Location: Alpha Cephei system, Outer Colonies

June 26th, 2541

* * *

_Captain's log._

_Entry: 24._

_Timestamped to shipboard clock._

_[Beginning Entry] :_

_12 days on patrol now. That's nearly 2 weeks of traversing this sector, and we haven't found any trace of Covenant activity._

_ Or, any activity at all, for that matter. Even the Innsurectionists haven't made an appearance out here, and we're deep into the Outer Colonies. Less than 3 sectors away, there're reports of fleet sized-engagements, but here, we seem to be the only ones within sensor range.  
_

_ ( Unless, of course, ONI has Prowlers shadowing us. I would not at all be surprised to learn that they are. The Spooks can't help themselves but be suspicious of everyone. They're worse than the Spanish Inquisition. )  
_

_The lack of activity is unsettling, though. Its the proverbial " calm before the storm. " If it wasn't for the Cole Protocol confounding the Covenant's ability to locate our worlds, we'd have become heavily engaged by now. That, and how the Covenant isn't following the most effective strategy for defeating an enemy in detail: Rather than pushing to take out our strategic depths, they're letting their " Holy mandate " dictate their movements; they hunt for the heavily populated worlds, and then burn them. They would, and have, bypass more heavily fortified worlds if they didn't detect any of their " relics " on them.  
_

_ That explains Harvest. But, not here. _

_However, there is nothing to be done about that for now._

_That which can be done, is keeping the crew up to full readniness. They're a good lot; I haven't found any of them that strike me as thoughly incompenent. The long hours spent without hostile engagement isn't doing much to either dampen or improve their spirits. In other words, they're coping with the boredrom rather well. That's become what I've expected of them, even though I've been in command of this vessel for less than a standard year.  
_

_They remain an example of discipline, even though there is nothing to test it. But, that's often the nature of being in the service; long stretches of nothing happening, followed by moments of absoloute chaos. _

_I don't doubt that absolute chaos will find us. And when it does, we must be ready._

_It doesn't matter how crazily hectic things get; I will keep this journal going. I will **make time** for it. Not everyone has learned how to do that.  
_

_[ End Entry ]_

* * *

That was enough for now.

Captain Micheal Raynor remained standing, datapad held in one hand, as his gaze flicked up and down the length of text he'd finished less than 3 seconds ago. Nobody would ever read this aside from him ( unless, needless to say, he let them ), but that wasn't going to stop him from double checking his work.

He studied every block of text, mentally considering if any of it needed to be changed. After doing that at least twice, he decided it was good enough, but then wound up doing it at least once more.

On some level, he knew this was a bit redundant, but that didn't matter either. There was nobody around to judge- not that he'd have stopped even if there had been anyone.

Keeping a journal was a habit that'd stuck with him for essentially his whole life. He'd written his very first entry back when he was a 17 year old military brat, growing up in the megacity of Kenosha, on Mars. In those days, he didn't have much to do outside of going back and forth between school and home; with _both_ his parents _and_ his two elder brothers either deployed off-planet, or kept " crazily hectic " busy late into the night, Mike mostly had to keep himself occupied.

The Raynor home was mostly deserted. At least that helped him concentrate.

Writing down his general thoughts, and experiences at class ( with virtually everyone at said school having military parents, some form of branch rivalry was inevitible, even for _them_ ) was mostly how he did it. After all, his bedroom had a amazing view of the soaring downtown high rises, and that kind of beautiful scenery made it easy to think while he filled out his notebook.

Barely visible beyond the tops of the skyscrapers, were the peaks of the Martian mountain ranges, but Mike didn't much look at them. Mountains were the home of most of the UNSC's military bases and outposts on Mars, which were what was sucking down too much of his parents and siblings' chances to be with him. He kept his attention on what he wanted to write.

14 years later, and that hadn't changed. He still wanted to write down things that mattered to him, except now, he didn't have a view to help out anymore.

That reminded him to look up for a moment. It was what he used to do during his days on Mars, but now, instead of a view over a downtown mass of tall buildings, he was greeted by the gunmetal colored walls of his cabin.

It was easily familar now; as career military, he'd quickly realized that the often utilitarian appearance of navy ships became your new gold standard, to the point that when you did actually manage to scratch out some shore leave, you were bewildered by all the shiny, clean buildings with thier mosiac of colors. It wasn't that you didn't like it, or thought it was pointlessly over the top, but you'd been living witht he opposite for so long, you'd nearly forgotten what it was like before you joined up.

The worst thing that could happen in that case, was if you turned your back on that former life, and went around thinking that civillians were " all soft ", etc. You _were_ one, once. And you would be again, when you eventually left, because _everyone_ left, sooner or later.

But, for now, Raynor's home was this kind of life: Navy all the way

_My new home. Well, not quite so new. Gotten used to the way it looks like its been coated in cinders._

_I kind of always did like that color anyway. Nearly as pretty as white._

All UNSC ships looked that way on the inside- steel color for everything . At least, as the CO of a ship the size of the _Gaugamela, _he had _plenty_ of space: it was actually a full fledged suite, complete with a bedroom ( that had an actual bed, not the enlisted bunks, that were stacked so low that you couldn't sit up while lying on them ), a private bathroom ( with a shower, not a _tub_; this wasn't a cruise liner, after all ), and an office workspace. There was a walk in closet for his uniforms, and even storage compartments for camo fatigues and armor.

The skipper's gaze settled for a few seconds on the lockbox containing his sidearm: an M6H2 Magnum heavy pistol, chambered in 12.7mm expanding tip rounds. The gun had actually saved his life once: he'd been caught up in a public terror attack carried about by United Rebel Front radicals ( which was a bit redundant to say ) while on leave on Tribute. The rebels had opened fire on a spawling crowd walking along the corniche ( coastal road ) of Tribute's capital of Casbah City, and Raynor had found himself smack dab in the middle of the action.

Thankfully, none of the civillians had died that day, though many had been wounded, and most of them badly. Raynor had shot 2 of the terrorists while the bullets were flying back and forth, although one of them had grazed him, shredding the fabric of his polo shirt sleeve.

_Close call, no doubt. I can't beleive those crazies would actually take a swing at Tribute ! That place went through enough when the Covenant were** burning it to cinders. **That was the most angry I'd ever been._

Attacks like that were why the UNSC was training everyone in its ranks, from " Jennifer the Corpsman ", to " Dean the RIfleman ", in how to basically be a infrantry soldier. Even shipboard officers these days were now expected to be ready for facing armed enemy action; the ( unsuccessful ) attack on Tribute, and the even more recent ( and equally failed ) boarding action on the UNSC_ Infinity _by members of the " New Colonial Alliance " Insurrectionist group had been a clear highlight of how the enemy could reach you virtually anywhere.

Raynor had lost 2 cousins to the Innsurectionists, both before and during the Covenant's appearance. He had no intention of getting caught by surprise by_ them,_ even after surviving that attack on Tribute. It was something else from his past that he was carrying around with him, all the way out here so deep in UNSC space.

It wasn't quite Harvest, but it was close.

_Speaking of Harvest, we're way off the reservation out where we are. Best to to get back on task_

He thumbed the pad off. After all, he wasn't the only on on this ship. There were over 3,000 personnel aboard this vessel, and each and every one of them were looking to him. They were scattered and clustered throughout the length of this ship, busily tending to their tasks, but at the end of the " day ", they all looked to him as the one in charge of them.

Raynor put the pad down, straightened the collar of his unifrom, and headed for his quarters' door.

There was captaining to be done, and a ship's detachment to command.


End file.
